


The Kermesse Affair

by ssclassof56



Series: Then Live With Me and Be My Love [7]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssclassof56/pseuds/ssclassof56
Summary: Illya's daughter is old enough for her first serious crush...and her first heartbreak.





	The Kermesse Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal's MFU Map Room for a Section7MFU - Short Affair Challenge  
> Prompts: mature / blue

The sound of footsteps carried down the hall, their light, steady tread easily recognizable. In the next corridor, hidden in a darkened doorway, a figure waited, ears alert, muscles taut with anticipation. His quarry rounded the corner, the footfalls softening as they moved from hardwood onto carpet. They passed the preceding doors in quick succession: the closet, the bath, a bedroom. He raised his arms in preparation. The steps reached the edge of his doorframe. With a ferocious roar, he pounced.

Sasha wrapped his arms around his younger sister, smothering her in a bear-hug. His practice jersey was damp with sweat and streaked with mud. Liliya shrieked and struggled to escape his embrace, to his increasing amusement. Eventually he allowed her to wriggle free. “Real mature, durak,” she spat.

Sasha stepped back, poised for her retaliation. He anticipated judo, as their father had trained her in several effective techniques against larger opponents. Given this latest provocation, however, she might resort to their mother’s rather un-Queensberry style of combat.

To his dismay, she burst out not with a cry of attack but with a sob. Her blue eyes filled with tears. Covering her face with her hands, she shouldered past him and ran to her room. The door slammed behind her.

Léon stepped out of the bathroom, toweling his hair. “What’s with her?”

His twin shrugged, staring at his sister’s door in consternation. “Beats me. PMS?”

“I would not let your mother hear that theory,” Illya snapped as he turned into the corridor.

“Too young for that, anyway,” Léon added.

Sasha looked to his father, sensing the distress in his sharp tone. “What was that all about, Pop?”

Illya sighed and held out a folded sheet of paper. Sasha walked up the hall to collect it, pausing to demand, “Dude, really?” as his brother snapped him with his damp towel. Faced with two exasperated gazes, Léon sobered. He moved to stand behind his twin and read over his shoulder.

The lined paper was elaborately creased, having once been folded like origami, and addressed to ‘Nik’ in penmanship curlier than they remembered. “When did she start dotting her i’s with little hearts?” Léon murmured.

In the note Liliya looked forward to the upcoming Kermesse and confirmed their plans to meet up after her band concert. Their sister’s typical style, restrained and slightly formal, could not hide the excitement of her first crush.

Léon groaned. “I'm not ready for this.”

Illya rolled his eyes. “You're not ready for this? Your mother had to stop me calling the Grand Duchess of Ingolstein for the name of the convent school she attended.” He leaned his shoulders against the wall. “Keep reading.”

A brief reply was scrawled across the bottom of the page in a careless, adolescent hand. “Can't make it. Working my parents’ booth. Sorry.”

“So that’s why she’s upset,” Sasha said.

“Not quite. Lilenchka’s made of sterner stuff than that,” Illya replied, a note of pride in his voice. “She decided to check out his story. Firstly, she learned that his parents are not hosting a booth, despite your mother’s most persuasive efforts.”

“And secondly?” Léon asked, his grey eyes darkening as he anticipated the answer.

“Secondly, she discovered he has made a date with someone else.”

Sasha crushed the note in his hand, as Léon cursed under his breath. “Who is this Nik?” they demanded.

“Dominik Breneman.”

“Breneman?” The boys exchanged a disgusted glance. “He’s a Year 9,” said Sasha.

“Yeah, and a total poser.”

“Yes, well, the apple falls near the apple tree,” Illya observed. “His father is our liaison to the City Council and a renowned poseur.”

“What are we going to do?”

“What can we do? We cannot force the boy to take her.” Illya pushed himself from the wall and began to pace. “I asked her to be my special assistant for the day. She did not think it an acceptable alternative.”

Léon snorted. “That's not a surprise. Who wants to spend the afternoon running tombolas?” He laughed at his father’s pointed look. “That’s what you get when you miss a PTA meeting.”

Illya shook his head ruefully. “Yes, and when your wife is the president.”

Sasha waved his brother over for a private conference. “No offense, Pop, but I’ve got a better idea.”

Illya watched his sons with their heads together, a familiar gleam in their eyes. “Don't hurt him,” he warned, as they headed toward Liliya’s room.

“Must you qualify these things?” Sasha returned with a smile.

The twins pounded on their sister’s door. “Lil’ka, open up. Your knights in shining armor are here.”

 

“Have you thanked your brother?” Illya asked, as Liliya finished showing him the prizes that they had won. He was relieved to see that her face, painted like a butterfly, had lost its pinched look and that her blue eyes shone brightly.

Liliya turned to Sasha and pulled his shirt so he would bend closer. “Thank you,” she said and pressed a kiss onto both his cheeks. Then, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, she ran to see her mother in the PTA tent before Sasha could realize that much of her face paint had transferred to him.

Illya handed his son a handkerchief. “She evidently had a good day.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Sasha said, wiping his cheeks. “I admit I had second thoughts about spending the day with a Year 7. So did my friends when I broke it to them.”

“Oh, really. How did it turn out?”

“Better than I could’ve hoped. They loved her, especially Margot.”

“I'm glad. Margot is a very nice young woman,” Illya said, keeping his tone neutral.

“Yeah. She said she wished her brother were as sweet as me.”

Illya could no longer suppress a chuckle. Sasha blushed, then smiled. “We’ve got a date this weekend.”

"I expect your brother does as well.” He watched his other son saunter by, his arm around a raven-haired girl. Léon winked at them over her head. “That was a fast conquest, even for him.”

Sasha shrugged. “With his résumé, not really. Student Council representative. Rugby’s Best Player two years running.” He made a hand gesture to indicate that the rest of the extensive list would remain unspoken. “She may be a new transfer, but she recognized the better offer when it came her way.”

They both darted a glance to the Breneman booth, where Dominik stood sweating over a raclette machine, scraping the melted cheese onto waiting plates.

“If Léon is a fast worker, I know where he gets it from. I can’t believe Ma got them to sponsor a booth after all.”

“They could hardly refuse,” Illya said with a smile, “not after the way your mother thanked them in public for changing their minds and named their son as the messenger.” He cast a fond gaze at his wife in the PTA tent. “She’s not afraid to make a spectacle of herself when the need arises.”

Faustina whispered something to her daughter, who nodded. Their mouths stretched in matching grins. Father and son watched as Liliya, mimicking a familiar saunter, made her way to the Brenemen booth. Smiling sweetly, she ordered a plate of raclette from her hapless former swain.

“Brava,” Illya declared.

Sasha put his arm around his father’s shoulders. “Revenge is a dish best eaten hot.”


End file.
